


Design To Appall

by Rubynye



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/F, Hate Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moira takes a deep breath and doesn't let herself dwell uselessly on how much she doesn't like this woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Design To Appall

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements: Whatever wonderfully dirty-minded person requested "[Emma/Moira... good ol' dirty, angry, femslashy hate!sex.](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?replyto=895885)" at the Kink Meme.  
> Title from [Design](http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robertfrost/692) by Robert Frost.

When she sees the Frost woman marched back between Charles and Erik, stepping daintily with head held high despite her hands bound behind her back, Moira catches herself grinding her teeth. Everything about Frost is flawless, from her sleek blonde hair to her impeccable balance to her slight disdainful smile as she looks over their mission force, and Moira feels grubby and underdressed as those glittering eyes sweep across her. No one should look as unruffled after being captured by ungentle Erik Lehnsherr as Miss Frost does, and Moira wonders for a moment if she can get anything out of this diamond-cool mutant woman. She's only human.

She's a trained and successful agent, who's in charge of this mission. Moira nods to Charles and glares at Erik as she snaps, "We'll have words later." He just looks down his nose at her, but silently follows her orders as she supervises loading up their captive and heading back down the road. Fortunately they arrive at their base without incident, and as Erik takes charge of Miss Frost, Charles pauses to telepathically report to Moira what happened inside the dacha. He's just gotten to Shaw's horrifying master plan when sudden pain spikes inside Moira's head, Shaw's face fading into her brother Jimmy's openmouthed screaming, the day of the car accident --

 _STOP IT_ , Moira hears echoing between her ears, and comes to herself on her knees, leaning against Charles's leg as he and the Frost woman glare at each other. Miss Frost's smiling, but there are lines of pain around her eyes, and Charles grimaces; then Erik steps into view as Frost gasps, and Moira can see the cuffs, actually coils of brassy metal, wind tighter around her wrists. "Behave," he says, holding out a hand for Moira to pull herself up, as Charles winces and turns away, rubbing his temples.

"It's rude to chat about a girl as if she's not even there," Miss Frost answers in saccharine tones as Erik pushes her forwards. "Isn't it, sweetie?" she tosses over her shoulder, blonde hair flowing like a golden scarf as she winks at Moira.

Moira takes a deep breath and doesn't answer, doesn't let herself dwell uselessly on how much she doesn't like this woman. "I need to interrogate her immediately, to get all this on the official record," she tells Charles, listening to her own firm voice and not Jimmy's echoing screams in her memory. "Can you control her?"

"Of course," he says, all eagerness and bright eyes, and touches her hair briefly, running a strand between his fingers. The echoes of bad memories immediately die away, and Moira feels a little more confident, and just a little wary. What can these telepaths do to her head?

**************** 

When Moira has Erik uncuff Frost, she takes the opportunity to add, "Furthermore, that stunt you pulled today? Never run off like that again! If it weren't for Charles you would have blown the entire mission and likely gotten all of us captured or worse!" He looks at her for a long tense moment as she holds his cold gaze and doesn't flinch. Then he nods once, but from him she supposes it's enough of an acknowledgment, and she lets him turn away. Charles smiles at her as he steps into the next room, and Moira squares her shoulders and walks into their impromptu interrogation room, bare of everything except two chairs, one occupied by Miss Frost, and a card table. She can do this.

Frost tilts her golden head and smiles up at Moira. "Oh, honey, don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

Moira opens her mouth, realizes she's about to say, 'I don't hate you,' and shuts it again. Instead she sits and says, "Emma Frost, I am Agent MacTaggert. As an associate of Sebastian Shaw, what can you tell us about -- sit down!"

Ignoring her, Frost crosses to the door, and Moira leaps from her chair, but -- Frost isn't opening the door. Her fingers glitter transparently as she pushes one through the plywood, and Moira hears the lock mechanism snap. "There, now we won't be disturbed for a little bit," Frost says, just as Moira grips her arm, warm flesh and smooth skin, and she turns to Moira wearing a sweet sharp-edged smile.

From there it all happens so fast.

Moira grits her teeth against the soft perfection of Frost's skin, her rich floral perfume, her long fingers as she gently cups Moira's cheek. "Don't try anything," she warns as fiercely as she can, "Xavier's in the next room --"

"I'm sure he's enjoying the show," Frost murmurs, and she's so tall, taller than Moira, glittering and beautiful and Moira shouldn't but she leans forward to crush her mouth against those pink lips. Frost laughs, thinking, _Emma, dear, it's Emma_ , and beyond her in the vast distance Moira can hear Charles calling in her mind but his voice is so much further away than Emma's cool sweet mouth.

There's a glittering smile in her head and this is against policy, dangerous and _wrong_ , and Moira tries to shove Frost away but her hands close around Emma's shoulders as Emma's hand slides down her chest and up under the thick sweater, sensation sparking at the touch. The door rattles but Moira's stumbling backwards, pulling Emma who laughs over her tongue and slides clever fingers over her breast and their knees fold and they're on the rough concrete floor, Moira tingling all over underneath Emma, crackling hot.

Emma's an icicle in the desert, cool and refreshing, and Moira yanks down the zip of that white fur-edged dress and gets her hands on all that smooth skin, shoves and rolls until Emma's spread out beneath her, flawless white and pink on the hard dusty floor, laughing and laughing. "We shouldn't," Moira says, because it's true, but there's a huge expanse in her head, nothing but sand and heat, and Emma glitters up at her like a pool on a hot day, like snow in July.

"Fuck should and shouldn't," Emma replies, grinning wider as Moira reflexively shudders at the profanity from such a refined mouth, and pulls her down again, curling one hand into her hair, the other beneath her skirt, and oh _God_ the touch of those long fingers, slipping into her panties and parting her folds as the door shudders a million miles away. Moira gasps against Emma's mouth and Emma gasps a laugh, hooking her knee behind Moira's waist, grinding down warm and damp against Moira's thigh as she teases her open, as she swirls tingling circles around her clit. _Come on, little girl,_ Moira hears echoing inside her head like cracking ice right as two fingers slide inside her, and it's rarely if ever this fast but the tingles rush into pulses, the pleasure crashing down over her like a waterfall across sere sands. Emma moans, for once wild and uncontrolled, and shudders beneath Moira as if drawing on her orgasm, experiencing it with her.

She must be. She must be inside Moira's head. Moira blinks, hit by the enormity of what she's just done, and shoves herself away from Frost, scrambling back. Emma laughs a little breathlessly, pushing herself up on her elbow, and licks her fingers with a sharp pink tongue. "Mmm, delicious," she purrs, sitting up, her hair tousled but her dress unstained.

"What," Moira gasps, and her heart is pounding inside her, the door is pounding behind her. "What did you do to me?" With difficulty she bites down on _you bitch_ , but she knows by Frost's glitter-eyed laugh she heard it anyway.

"To you, sweetie? I didn't do a thing," she answers, calmly zipping up her dress. "No, honey, that was all you."

The door bangs open. Charles and Erik cram themselves into the doorway, both panting almost as desperately as Moira is. She can see herself under their eyes, crouched disheveled on the floor across from a smirking Emma Frost; her cheeks flood with searing blood as she shoves herself to her feet before either of them can offer to help her up, pushing her hair behind her ears for something to do with her shaking hands. "Charles," Moira says with her back to him, her voice cracking like a teenage boy's, as Emma lounges like a cat, "I'm going to have to bend protocol. I'll need you present for the interrogation."

"Moira," he answers, and at least he does her the courtesy of using his voice and staying out of her mind, "There's no time. We have to get back now, there's been an attack on the facility."

Moira opens her mouth but no words come out, and all she can see is Frost sitting on the floor smiling, all she can hear filling her head is an encompassing, crystalline laugh.


End file.
